The last woman remembered nothing about Irene. Sherlock and John caught a cab to Baker Street. When they got out of the cab-and John paid yet again-, Sherlock said, "Mycroft's here. Let's go get Chinese."

Glancing around the street, John finally spotted the black car sitting by the curb. The sound of a woman shouting came from their flat. "Irene sounds like she's going to kill him!" he exclaimed, hurrying for the door. Sighing in resignation, Sherlock followed at a more sedate pace while John tried to get up to the flat as fast as he could.

Just before John opened the door, something shattered inside. Horrified, John pushed the door open. Mycroft Holmes sat with his back to the door. Irene stood in the middle of the room, her hands on her hips, glaring at Mycroft. The pieces of a teacup were smashed on the floor next to the chair where Mycroft sat.

"Come in, Dr. Watson," Mycroft invited, without turning. "I'm sure Irene will control her temper now."

Flinging her hands up in the air, Irene spun and walked to the window. "Did you learn anything on your expedition, Sherlock?" Mycroft asked. "Was it really necessary for you to go all over town?"

"I fail to see how that concerns you, Mycroft," Sherlock responded, going past John to enter the flat. He sat down in a chair across from his brother. "Irene, how was your rehearsal? I assume, you will be busy with that production for as long as you're here?"

The look Irene cast over her shoulder was furious. "No," she said. "Due to the impending scandal surrounding my name, the director didn't want to have me anywhere near his show. Whoever spread those rumors to Everett Johnson has still been at it."

"When you insist on tiptoeing the line between a criminal or a respected career, it is to be expected," Mycroft told her. He turned his attention back to Sherlock. "Anything that involves you or Irene, is very much my business. As this particular case involves you both, I can only give it my full attention."

"I am doing fine without you," Sherlock informed him. "Still on that diet, I see."

Annoyed, Mycroft stared at him. Sherlock steadily stared back. John looked between the two uneasily. "Oh, will the two of you just grow up?" Irene demanded, turning around. She headed for the door, jerking her coat out from behind Sherlock as she passed by. "I'm going for a walk."

"I'll go with you," John volunteered, taking a step after her.

"No," Irene responded sharply. She took a deep breath and offered an apologetic smile. "Sorry, John. I just need to be alone for a little bit."

She slammed the door shut behind her. "She hasn't changed much," Mycroft commented breaking the silence that followed the young woman's exit. "Sherlock, you do know that you need the not inconsiderable help I can give if we are going to get Irene out of this predicament."

Not responding, Sherlock picked up his violin. "Well, then," Mycroft said, getting to his feet. "I need to get back to the office. When you and Irene decide to be reasonable, you know how to contact me. Remind Irene that she needs to consult my legal help."

"I'll mention it to her," John told him when Sherlock again said nothing. He waited until Mycroft had left the flat and then commented, "You, Mycroft, and Irene have the strange ability to annoy each other in the shortest amount of time."

"Irene will be back soon," Sherlock told him. "She shouldn't have gone. We have to go over her clients again."

Turning the corner, Irene stopped muttering about know it all consulting detectives and over bearing government officials. She heaved a sigh as she slipped her bare hands into her pockets. "There has to be something I'm not seeing," she said, out loud. "But what?"

A quarreling father and daughter crossed her path. Pausing, Irene watched with a frown. "Of course!" she exclaimed. "I am an idiot not to have seen it! And Sherlock didn't either!"

Laughing, she pulled her phone out of her pocket and turned around. Her fingers began the message as she headed back to the flat. A hand came down on her shoulder. "Miss Adler," Amelia Bennett said as Irene looked up. "I was hoping to find you out here."

"What can I do for you?" Irene asked, conversationally. She tried to relax her tense muscles. "I don't think we were ever formally introduced, were we?"

"No, but there's time enough for that later, Amelia told her, smiling strangely. "My father is looking forward to seeing you again, Miss Adler. He's told me so much about you."

Looking down at where the woman had a tight grip on her arm, Irene sucked in her breath. A slender syringe, much like those used by diabetics, was sticking out of her arm. Her phone fell from her fingers and her knees buckled under her. The only reason she stayed upright was because Amelia caught her.

"There, there," the blond woman cooed. Quickly losing focus, Irene frowned slightly at that, and then realized the woman was acting. "Excuse me, sir! Can you help my friend into my car? I'm afraid she's had some rather startling news and is not herself."

A helpful man came over and put his arm around Irene's waist. He supported her to the waiting car. "No," Irene managed to mummer, before being deposited in the back of a waiting car. Unable to keep herself upright, she slipped down and was sprawled across the seat.

After thanking the man, Amelia got behind the wheel. "Just close your eyes, Miss Adler," she called back. "There's nothing you can do now."

Standing by the window, John looked down at the darkening street. Behind him, Sherlock was starting to get more and more irritated. "She should have come back by now," Sherlock said, texting furiously. "Why is she not answering? Mycroft must have mentioned her last boyfriend for her to be this mad."

"Her last boyfriend?" John repeated, turning around. "Why would that make her mad?"

"Godfrey Norton was an extremely dull person," Sherlock answered, tossing his phone down in frustration. "A lawyer, as a matter of fact. Mycroft warned Irene that he would be boring, but she refused to listen. She broke up with him about…six months ago."

John mulled it over for a few moments. "Since when does your brother offer dating advice?" he finally asked, striving to lighten the atmosphere. "It's a bit of an odd hobby for a government official, isn't it?"

"When it comes to Irene, Mycroft cannot help himself," Sherlock replied, his tone bored.

A tap on the door announced Mrs. Hudson's presence. "Sherlock, have a look at this," she said, holding out her hand to show a cell phone. "I found it on the street just now, just around the corner. It looks familiar to me, but all these phones look alike."

Grabbing his own phone, Sherlock began another text. John walked over and took it from the land lady. "It does look familiar, doesn't it," he commented, examining it. It buzzed in his hand and the display showed: Sherlock. "Sherlock, who did you just text?"

"Irene, who else?" Sherlock snapped.

"This is her phone," John informed him, looking over. "You've sent her…24 messages in the past half hour."

Instantly, Sherlock was out of his chair and across the room. He grabbed the phone. "Mrs. Hudson, where exactly did you find this?" he demanded.

"Just around the corner, dear," Mrs. Hudson said patiently though there was a note of worry in her voice. "I was coming back from some errands and there it was! Right by the curb. I thought it looked familiar so I picked it up. Is it really Irene's?"

"Quick, John, write this down," Sherlock said. Scrambling, John located a piece of paper and pen. "'Case solved. Clue: staring eyes.' Oh, the rest is gibberish!" Frowning, Sherlock started to pace. "She figured it out. Why would she put 'staring eyes'? What does it mean?"

"Someone watching her?" John suggested.

"Is Irene all right?" Mrs. Hudson asked. "Oh, she hasn't gone after a criminal alone, has she? She's so impetuous like you Sherlock!"

"Both of you shut up and let me think!" Sherlock ordered sharply. He took three more steps and then spun around. "Of course! Oh, you are clever sometimes Irene! John, look up Carl Bennett. I imagine he will have a taxidermy shop of some sort."

Quickly, John grabbed the computer and typed it in. "What does it mean?" he asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" Sherlock asked, grabbing his coat and scarf. "The eyes of a stuffed animal stares. Carl Bennett was convicted of embezzlement because he put the money into stuffed endangered animals! Of course he would have a score to settle with Irene!"

John frowned as he stared at the screen. "He owns a shop now, like you said," he said. "But I thought you and Irene said it was a woman."

"It was!" Sherlock responded. "His daughter, Amelia Bennett, was Johnson's secretary, the one he was having an affair with. Call Lestrade and have him meet us at the shop. Tell him we've found the real murderer and he's about to kill another person."

Dialing the number, John stumbled after his flat mate. "Don't worry, Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock called back as he went out the front door. "We will find Irene!"

"Aren't you going to call a cab?" John asked, seeing his friend start across the street.

"Not enough time!" Sherlock responded over his shoulder. "It's faster on foot. Come on, John!"

Fifteen minutes later, after going through alleys, over fences, and across rooftops, John and Sherlock ended up in front of a tiny little shop in the middle of a block. The sign read Bennett's Taxidermy. The light coming from within was the only light, besides the street lamps, in the block.

"So, what's the plan?" John asked, trying to get his breath back.

"You go in and distract them," Sherlock told him succinctly. "Use what little imagination you have!"

Thinking hard, John crossed the street and went into the shop. A little bell on the door announced his arrival. No one was in sight, so John took the opportunity to look around. Ever inch of the wall space was covered with animals. "Hello?" he called out. "Anyone in?"

A door slammed nearby. An older man with graying hair came from the back, looking flustered. "Can I help you?" he asked.

"Yes, I saw you were still open and just came in," John said, trying to come up with a convincing story. "I'm going out of town to visit a friend. He collects stuff like this, and I'd like to take him something unusual. Do you have anything to suggest?"

Glancing over his shoulder, Carl Bennett visibly hesitated. "Let me show you a few things," he said.

"Am I interrupting something?" John asked.

"Well, I was in the middle of a new project, but it can wait," Bennett quickly assured him. He came out from behind the counter as the bell on the door jingled once again. "I'm sorry, sir. I'll be with you in a few moments."

"I don't mind waiting," Sherlock said, walking to the counter.

John determinedly kept his attention on the shopkeeper as he followed Bennett over to one wall. As Bennett talked about the uniqueness of a bird, John glanced back and wasn't surprised to find that there was no sign of Sherlock.

Moving quickly and silently, Sherlock went down the narrow hallway. Along the way, he opened two doors, one of which led to a small closet filled with the tools of the taxidermy trade and the other led into a different part of the building. At the end of the hallway, Sherlock was confronted with a closed door.

Grasping the knob, he turned it and easily pushed it open. A single fluorescent light shone in the workshop, hanging above a large table. On the table, lay Irene. Sherlock cautiously entered the room and hurried to the table. "Irene," he said, leaning over her. "Irene!"

There was no response, but when Sherlock placed his fingers on her neck, he felt her heartbeat. Quickly, he lifted her up and turned. He reached the hallway and stopped. Amelia Bennett stared at him from the other hallway, her face twisting with instant rage.

"You," she breathed, moving to block the hallway. A half mad smile appeared on her face. "I should have known you'd come. He said you would if Adler was really your client. You're too late, though. There's nothing you can do for her now."

"Move aside," Sherlock ordered.

Amelia dropped the small leather pouch she was carrying. In her hand was a small scalpel. "I've waited too long for the chance to destroy her like she destroyed my family," she told him, walking slowly towards him. "He told me to do it. I won't disappoint him!"

"Who?" Sherlock asked, stepping back. "Your father?"

The woman laughed shrilly. "My father?" she repeated. "No! My father is too weak to think of revenge. He doesn't know what I've got going on. He won't ever find out and you won't have the chance t tell anyone!"

She swung at him, the scalpel gleaming in the air. "John!" Sherlock shouted, lunging back into the workshop.

Blue eyes gleaming with madness, Amelia followed him into the room. "You both will make a fine addition to his collection!" she laughed. "My father taught me everything he knows about preserving things! What will make people so different from animals?"

Lifting his foot, Sherlock kicked a shelf over. Dodging the falling items, Amelia snarled at him, "You can't keep away from me! Not if you try to keep her away too!"

At that moment, John burst into the workshop. "Sherlock!" he exclaimed, jumping forward. He grabbed Amelia's wrist from behind and twisted the deadly scalpel out of her hand. He jerked the woman around and pushed her against the wall.

The sound of sirens could now be heard. Laughing and sobbing, Amelia sank to her knees. "He'll kill you all!" she repeated over and over.

"John, go get an ambulance," Sherlock ordered. John cast an uncertain look at Amelia. "She won't try anything."

Kicking the scalpel into a corner, John nodded and hurried to the hallway, where Sherlock heard him talking quickly to the police. There was a slight laugh and Sherlock looked down to see Irene smiling faintly. "I always knew you cared," she whispered, her voice slightly slurred.

Carl Bennett staggered into the room. "Amelia!" he exclaimed, pitifully. He went to her, only to be pushed away. "What have you done?"

"Will someone explain what's going on here?" Lestrade demanded coming in.

"So, it wasn't really one of your old clients," John said to Irene the next day.

Sitting cross-legged in the chair, Irene shook her head. "No, it wasn't," she replied. She rubbed the back of her hand where an IV had been. "Of course, there is the fact that it had to be a woman. That's what threw us both off. I'm only glad I solved it before Sherlock."

On the couch, Sherlock threw her an irritated look. "No, I am never going to let this one go, Sherlock," Irene informed him, cheerfully.

"Don't you have a flight to catch?" Sherlock asked in answer.

"Oh, not yet. Why? Are you in a hurry to get rid of me again?"

John leaned against Irene's chair. "There's one thing I don't understand," he said, attempting to interrupt their spat. It worked; both looked at him. "Amelia Bennett kept repeating 'he'll kill you all'. Who exactly was she talking about? Her father?"

"Ask Irene," Sherlock said.

Looking down, Irene heaved a sigh. "Why must you put it on me, Sherlock?" she demanded. "And why were you looking through my messages in the first place?" She held up her hand. "Never mind. I don't want to know. You've had as much contact with him as I have, if not more!"

"Well, someone tell me!" John said.

Irene and Sherlock stared at each other for a moment longer. "Oh, very well!" Irene said. "Since Sherlock is being so rude, I will explain. Four weeks ago, I was approached to take my profession into a more...illegal level. Naturally, I refused and I began getting strange coded texts."

"Naturally you refused?" John asked. "You didn't even think about it?"

"Of course not!" Irene exclaimed. "How long do you think it would have been before Sherlock and Mycroft came after me? I am not an idiot, despite what Sherlock may try to tell you."

"I assume to tried to trace who ultimately made you the offer," Sherlock said, his tone thoughtful.

Nodding, Irene straightened up in her seat and put her feet on the floor. "All I got was a single letter," she said. " 'M'. Then, when I was checking out your website, I came across the anonymous notes you were getting, Sherlock, and the code of the first one matched my texts."

"And you decided to come to London to find out what I knew."

Again, the woman nodded. "What do you know?" she asked.

"You've read John's account of the serial suicides?" Sherlock asked. Irene smiled. "Before he died the cabby gave me the name of my 'fan'. Moriarty. My attempts to locate this man have not come up with anything sound, though I haven't given it my full attention yet."

Snorting, Irene got to her feet. "When you do find him, please don't face him alone," she requested, her tone intense and pleading. John looked at her in surprise. "He's obviously a dangerous man and I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you."

"Nothing will happen to me, Irene," Sherlock assured her, his tone warm and gentle. "I have John to look out for me, and of course, Mycroft has us under constant surveillance."

Laughing, Irene moved to get her coat. "Oh, go ahead and ask her," Sherlock said, turning his attention to his computer. Irene looked at John curiously. "He's been trying to reign in his curiosity this whole time, but will no doubt try to interrogate me the moment you leave."

"Oh?" Irene asked. "What do you want to know, John?"

Looking between them, John hesitated. "How do you know each other?" he asked bluntly. "You know everything about each other and you both constantly try to annoy the other."

"Oh, so when you said Sherlock hadn't told you anything about me, you really were serious, weren't you?" Irene said, her tone sympathetic but extremely amused. She looked at Sherlock, who said nothing. "And you've been wondering this whole time if I was an old flame of his?"

"Something along those lines, yes," John admitted.

"Well, I can tell you that that assumption is completely wrong!" Irene told him, winding her scarf around her neck. "But I am not going to be Sherlock's mouth. He can explain it all to you. I have a plane to catch, and I must stop by Mycroft's to thank him for reinstating my passport."

John went to get the door for her. Irene paused beside the consulting detective. Leaning down, she kissed his cheek. "Until we meet again, Sherlock Holmes," she said, affection in her tone. "Try not to get John killed, will you? He's too nice a person for that to happen."

"Don't terrorize America too much," Sherlock advised, keeping his eyes on what he was reading.

Smiling, Irene walked to the door. "See you around, John," she said as she went passed him. She started down the stairs.

"Wait!" John said. Irene looked back at him. "Why do you think Sherlock is like the Phantom of the Opera?"

Irene laughed. "That does so annoy him, doesn't it?" she responded. "I say he is like the mysterious Phantom because in some ways he is. Both are geniuses that no one appreciates, both have a love for music, and both have no respect for social standings which makes them seem like jerks. But mostly I say it to annoy him."

John nodded. He watched her leave the building and then went back into the flat. "So?" he prompted. He sighed when Sherlock gave him a blank look. "Are you going to explain how you know her, or not?"

"What kind of relationship do you think we have?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, she just said she wasn't your old girlfriend," John answered, thinking hard. "And then there's the fact that Mycroft knows her too. You both seem to be on close terms, despite the fact that you all seem to take delight in annoying each other." He ran a hand through his hair "I don't know. A family friend?"

Sherlock laughed. "Close, but wrong," he said. "Irene Adler happens to be my cousin. Her mum and my mum were sisters. When her parents were killed in an automobile accident, Irene came to live with my family."

"Oh." John said, contemplating that. "That must have been...interesting."

"She made a good assistant when it came to experiments," Sherlock told him. "Mycroft didn't appreciate what we did to his things when he was home." He chuckled. "That's where Irene got skilled at taking things." He paused. "Oh, what's she taken this time?"

"Wait. You think she took something again?"

"Did you not just spend time with her? Of course she did!" Sherlock responded, springing up. He started flinging things around. "Come on, John! Search everything! This is just the sort of thing she would do! Take something and then leave London to avoid reprisal!"

"Well, if it makes you feel better, she's on her way to visit Mycroft," John told him. "You can still catch up to her if you want."

Sherlock glared at him. "Without knowing what she took? What kind of revenge could I get then?" he demanded. He paused and then started laughing, collapsing into a chair. "She's visiting Mycroft! Oh, this will be good!"
"What?" John asked uneasily. "She's going to take something from him too? I know: 'of course she is'!"

Sherlock's phone buzzed then on the coffee table. Picking it up, Sherlock glanced at the text. "Lestrade has something for us," he announced, sounding disappointed. "A murder. He doesn't say anything else. This will be too easy. Not many patch problems have come along."

"That's a good thing," John told him. "Do you know what those things will eventually do to you?"

"Helps me...think..." Sherlock responded, his voice fading. Jumping up again, he rushed out of the room. Moments later came his outraged shout, "She took my nicotine patches!"

A/N: And my tale is complete. Hope you enjoyed it!